35
More Unicorns Than You Can Handle
Holiday Munchies 16
2
Aftermath, YOLD 3174
DISCOVERWhat Vexati0n Killed For Dinner
5
Who Killed The LULZ?
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InterMittensFNORD!
3 Welcome to IntermIttens
4 matters oF Importance
5 HoW to maKe WHat I HaD For DInner
6 rant #00110010110011
9 all tHIngs HaVIng Been saID
10 tHe emergent conspIracy
12 WItHIn a Dream
16 tHe nIgHt BeFore cHrIstmas muncHIes
18 tHe toy maKer
20 nancy
23 InternatIonal relatIons
26 tHe sWalloW
28 KnoWIng We are Free
30 a clarIFIcatIon
31 tHe golDen age oF DIscorDIanIsm
32 WHo KIlleD tHe lulz?
33 tHe paraBle oF tHe sacreD Bull
34 arcHItecture
35 meDIa mInDFucKIng
Holy chao!
Issue 1 Version 2.3
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3
Who Killed The LULZ?--to Intermittens.
This is a small, possibly periodical publication of Discordian stuff.
I say “stuff” because there’s very little criteria for entry. The contents are a smattering of essays, rants, sermons, posts, silly images, and all sorts of Diarrhea Discordia. We have a rotating editorial staff - whoever wants to compile an issue is free to do so. Participation in Intermittens is a Golden Apple Seed Mission, meaning you’re welcome to help. If you have skills to lend, we need ‘em!
See, Discordia has gone pretty far from where it was 50 years ago. But because of the decentralized nature of this neophilic irreligion, it’s really hard to find out where exactly it’s gone. Intermittens is a very half-assed attempt to compile some recent thoughts by [some] Discordians.
This dude Manta Obscura kicked off this project by collecting a number of works he liked in one place (a thread at principiadiscordia.com/forum). I said, “Man, we should really compile some of this stuff into a PDF or something.” Here’s an important tip for getting stuff done when there’s no leader: whenever you hear yourself saying “We should do X”, translate it to “I should do X.” After a few pints of resolve, I decided to make this magazine thing.
There’s tons of Discordian writing in the public do-main. I think the public domain is a sort of holy land, and just exploring it makes me giddy, makes me want to cut stuff up and paste it into a new body of work. So I took a lot of this public doman brouhaha and slap-dashed it together into this is-sue you’re holding now. The first copy was made in a grand total of three and a half hours. It was made in MS Word, and had none of the polished edges or refined style of a professional magazine. The intent was to publish something very quickly, as if to dem-onstrate that any idiot can do this. Seriously. Even you.
Later, Telarus KSC answered the Golden Apple Seed Mission and signed up to apply the style and layout you see here. That’s a great example of how a GASM works - you hear about a project, and you want to help, so you do! The project is better for his participation.
As long as I’ve got the spotlight, I want to tell you about this other ambitious project I just launched. It’s called LITGASM, the mission to tag all the Dis-cordian works on the net. There’s a TON of them, but there’s no central listing anywhere. How can you help? Tag anything you find using delicious.com. Give it the tag “Discordian”, and “Litgasm”. I usually add a few more tags like “rant”, “sermon”, “prank”, “art”, “scripture”, “essay”, “post”, or what-ever.This will make it easier for people to find out what’s going on, especially new members to our weird little anti-society.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this first issue of Inter-mittens. It’s a spag rag, but it’s mine and I loves it. Please consider creating more material in the pub-lic domain so that pirates like me can disseminate it, even if it just gets juxtaposed with dongs. And if you dig this rag you’re reading, I want to become part of the dialogue rather than just remaining au-dience to it. So write an article, edit an issue, be a winner. One day some spag is gonna wonder what the Discordians were on about in the year 20XX, and I want there to be a HELL of a story to tell.
Professor Cramulus12/12/2008
Welcome
4
Matters of Importance by St. Vincent Verthaine
Let’s say we live in a universe filled with tril-lions and trillions and trillions of cubic parsecs of vacuum, along with dark and illuminated matter.
Let’s say that we don’t quite know yet how that space or matter came into being in our universe, but that clues are scattered all over the place, some of which we can discern now, others we’ll be dis-cerning later.
Let’s say that our consciousnesses came into be-ing after said universe existed for billions and billions of years.
Let’s say that said consciousness recognized that it owes its existence to inorganic elements and molecules, that somehow those inorganic ele-ments and molecules became animate of their own accord due to the fact that it had billions of years to turn into more diverse and complex forms, after all, our world is completely satu-rated with several constant energy sources, negating the effects of entropy on our warm and
wet planet. Let’s say that after, oh, say, 4 or so bil-lion years (who’s counting?), that that conscious-ness was able to look deeply inward as well as far outward, outwardly piercing the veil of space and view it out to, oh, say, 12 or so billion light years in all directions.
The universe is conscious of itself!
It knows it’s alive!
Wouldn’t that be awesome?
It’s capable of reflecting on itself and saying:
I have consciousness and I see all around me!
Let’s say that man ascended (not descended) from an ape-like creature. That means we managed to progress from using straws to pick up succulent termites, to cooking Cajun Gumbo in, say, 4 million years.
Somehow, Christian theologians says that’s a BAD thing.
Why?
Because it implies that we might be better than worms. And then they would be wrong.
I say we’ve made a really good go of it. Sadly, that’s bad according to those self-made worms. They don’t realize the awesome contribution to the uni-verse that Man is. The universe is conscious of it-self because of us and they don’t see the magic in that. Simply said , their lives are devoid of REAL magic.
Instead, theirs is filled with supernatural battles of good and evil, sinning people, dis-graced humans. How sad for them. They even say that we’ve fallen from some high mysti-cal state where these two people frolicked naked and plucked fruit from trees in a paradi-siacal garden, like uncivilized forest dwellers.
Where’s the dignity in that? There is no dignity in that. There’s just no dignity in believing we’re just “worms”, to quote their terminology.
Continued on Page 8...5
Instead, there is dignity in learning that even though space is as good as infinite, in all that in-finite space we’re alive anyway. We can yearn to reach beyond our atmosphere, and do it just about monthly now. We send probes into deep space and despite the seeming impossibility of ever being detected by another civilization, we keep doing it anyway.
In the meantime, we’re learning more and more of our immediate neighborhood. And the more we know, the more we come to appreciate our little chunk of rock called Earth.
But I digress.
My point is that at the most basic level we’re all made of carbon, nitrogen, hydrogen and oxygen...the in-organic elements of DNA, and it’s ALIVE! That’s very cool.
We’re made of the stuff of the universe. And what’s even more awesome is that the heavier elements in our bod-ies didn’t come into being un-til lots of stars lived, grew old and then exploded in novas and supernovas to form them. So not only are we made of the stuff of the universe, we’re made of stardust! You can’t get any more magical than that.
I prefer this kind of magic. This is the true miracle.
Mythological beginnings are just that, mythology. They were good enough for beginning civilizations a thousand generations ago, but they don’t work in a world where science and knowledge now has reign over superstition and ignorance. Science and knowledge don’t make anything any less magic, they bring the magic of life to full view.
At least for me.
And I like it that way.
-St. Vincent Verthaine
How to Make What I Had For Dinnerby Vexati0n Ingredients
some nearly-expired •spinach leaves
some frozen vegetables•
1 chicken breast, frozen.•
1 handful of spaghetti•
1 jar of alfredo pasta sauce•
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Little Children of Chaos have you 1. read the Principia Discordia and “Illu-minatus!”? Have you read Zen Without Zen Masters, the Apocrypha Discordia, and every other Erisian work you could find?
Do you think that makes you Dis-2. cordian? That you carry a Pope card, maybe a TSAR card, that you Turkey Curse your Boss and you know 230 ways to get to the number 5... do these things makes you Erisian?
Open all THREE 3. Eyes and See, God-dessdamnit!
A thousand Fnords 4. make not a single Discordian, 23’s and 5’s are not what turn cabbages into humans.
No catechism, no required meme to 5. learn. No “right” of passage into some Initiatory Coven of Chaos.
Nay, my fellows, even that Great 6. Goddess, Eris Kallisti Discordia herself, appears unnecessary for a Discordian.
I implore you, Seek not only the 7. Chaos of the past, for while there may be LULZ, while there may exist Inspi-ration, while there may be tools aplen-ty, it is not there that Discordianism lies.
I do not say this to discourage reuse, 8. older memes have deep roots and healthy growth and may be the hook which catches many minds in their initial first steps into the Void. And what is wrong with that if it be the case? Nothing, I think.
However, Discordian ‘enlighten-9. ment’ (for what its worth), won’t be found in those memes. It won’t be found in anything
written by Robert Anton Wilson, it won’t be found in the Principia Discor-dia. They don’t contain Enlightenment. They contain hints and point-ers, they contain tools which can help with the freeing of oneself. But, words cannot free you from the Curse of Grey-face.
If you wish to be 10. Free, then there is but one thing you can do;
DISCORDIAN, ENLIGHTEN THYSELF! 11.
Another Discordian’s enlightenment can-12. not bring the light to your eyes, nor will the ideas of another make you free.
So you read a rant? Go write a rant! So 13. you found some memes? Go create some memes! Do not rely on the Enlightenment of others for your own damned Enlighten-ment.
In that direction lie all of the greyfaced, 14. hunch-brained ideas of a Dogmatic and Drab Existence.
Rant #00110010110011by Ratatosk
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I see no flaw in embracing and 15. enjoying the ideas of others, as long as they do not replace your ideas. There is no sin in delighting in the stories of past Discordians, as long as you have your own stories as well. The only Sin is the sin of stagnation.
Even so, if you do naught but par-16. rot the old memes, you are still Discord-ian in some sense. Though, perhaps not the sense you were hoping for.
A Discordian bears no responsibil-17. ity to accept anyone else, not me, nor you, nor “Bob”.
They are only responsible to know 18. themselves and accept it or change it as they see fit.
And for you, it appears the same, 19. for you have no responsibility to accept anyone else either. Including me, includ-ing this rant.
Do As Thou Will, but be sure it is 20. Thou who Wills it.
In the end, our freedom is a free-21. dom of the mind and only the owner of that mind can free it.
We are the Slave and the Master. 22. No one can free the Slave, except for the Master.
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How to Make What I Had For Dinner...Continued, by Vexati0n
First, try to defrost the chicken using your microwave’s “Defrost” setting. When that fails, get pissed off and set it to nuke for 2 minutes on 100% power.
Meanwhile, distract yourself with guess-ing how much spaghetti you need. Do not use a spaghetti serving measurer thing, which would be cheating. Start spaghetti cooking in cold water.
Notice that the chicken has become half-cooked in the microwave, and re-move it. Start frying it in a pan for no apparent reason. Some people recom-mend you chop up the chicken pieces before you start frying it. Those people are wrong.
Find something to season it with, it doesn’t matter what. I used steak sea-soning. Be sure to apply the seasoning after the chicken is at least halfway done, otherwise the flavor might stay in the chicken.
Dump spinach leaves into the pot along with the cooking spaghetti. Take care to use just enough spinach to add color, but not flavor. Add some kind of oil (preferably edible) to pasta water, liberally.
When the spaghetti is done, strain it and put it in some kind of container. Dump the entire jar of alfredo sauce in and mix it up. Allow it to cool while the chicken gets done, which would already be done except you put the heat on too low.
When the chicken is done, toss it into the mix. Taste. Decide it needs something else. Check the cupboards and find nothing. Find frozen vegetables in the freezer. Nuke the holy Jesus out of them for like 10 minutes, then throw them in there too.
Serve.
All Things Having Been Saidby Jack of Turnips
All things having been said, and repeat-ed, and repeated again until the bile rises in the throat...now the only sensible action is to destroy the government.
The Capitol should be ruins, a grassy rock-scattered place where children go and their parents tell them, “This was where the bigwigs ap-proved torture, this is where the fat men legislated their robberies, this is where they voted for war and left the poor and sick to die. This is where the ones in power proclaimed that all the money will go to the rich and everyone else can eat dirt.” That’s what the parents, those who knew and who put the dynamite under the foundations, that’s what they will say.
And the children will pick dandelions in the ruins of Washington, DC.
Yeah, America’s dead. She has been dead for fifty years now. Nationalists still love her, still kiss her dead lips; they are making love to her corpse even as you read this. But she’s dead. Get over it.
Your allegiance must be elsewhere. Your allegiance must be to a new life. It is 07:30 and the October sun bursts in a flood of orange light through the window. What the hell are you going
to do about it? Get the guitars and the djembes, the harmonicas and the fiddles; get your crazy trousers and your hat with the ribbons; walk on stilts and let the dogs run free. Dance for your life, you bas-
tards. Dance and sing and work and fuck like you mean it. It’s all that’s left.
For fifty years money has been lavished on corporate barons while legislators deny food and basic medical care to the poor. For fifty years America has used
lies to wage wars of aggression. The killings -- Viet-nam to Iraq -- number in the hundreds of millions, a holocaust. A murderous American holocaust. For fifty years the US secret police have operated with-out restraint of law, and they have been set loose to imprison and torture at will. America’s Constitution is a joke, ignored in practice and mocked daily by the actions of the government.
Dance like you mean it, brothers. Spit on ev-eryone in power. I heard there was a man who said that no matter whether Thing One or Thing Two gets elected the inauguration should be the same: a hollow-point bullet to the forehead. To be imme-diately followed by the execution of each and every congressman and senator. I did not say that, I don’t know who did. It is illegal to say that, illegal to write it, illegal for an American to think it. (Just as it was illegal for a Soviet in Stalin’s day.) I don’t know who
would say that.
Spit on everyone in power.
We will learn this or die: the only tribe is the human tribe. The streets and parks and fields belong to us. We own the sunlight on the grass, a bottle of warm wine in our hands and a cheap guitar hung ‘round our necks.
And the children will pick dandelions in the ruins of Washington, DC.
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We own life. Late at night, alone: frost forming on the windows, a 40-watt bulb in the bedside lamp -- the one without a lampshade -- and a thin book by Jim:
“The bullet tumbled toward the girl’s head at 1250 feet per second. She wasn’t the pres-ident, you say, too young for politics. Despite theological gooseshit the gods don’t
keep time in light years. We’re slowed to the brutality of clocks.
Listen to the alarm. Wake up.”
That’s it, then: wake up.
Every one of us will die, but we will continue. We can’t go on, but we will go on. The chain of souls sings in our blood, in the only tribe there is, the human tribe. There is a reason the officials are on top: it is because scum floats. And therefore be no respecter of government. Subvert the powerful. Mail your congressman an envelope of spit. Your allegiance is to humankind, not to the corpse of America or the stinking remains of a nationalist fantasy. Grow up. And learn to sing.
The Emergent Conspiracyby Episkopos Cain
“ An emergent behaviour or emer-gent property can appear when a number of simple entities (agents) operate in an environment, forming more complex behaviours as a col-lective [...] The complex behaviour or properties are not a property of any single such entity, nor can they eas-ily be predicted or deduced from be-haviour in the lower-level entities. ” - Wikipedia
“ Daring ideas are like Chess men moved forward. They may be beaten, but they may start a winning game. ”- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Its hard to say when the “conspiracy” started. Because, the thing is, its not really a conspiracy. Its easy to trace people and interests, child’s play really. But tracing ideas...well, that’s another matter entirely. Some say it dates back to the Yellow Turban Rebellion, where Taoists es-chewed Wu Wei and took matters into their own
hands, collaps-ing the Han Dynasty. Oth-ers suggest the Assassins, the mystic-killers who controlled wide tracts of the Middle East, as more likely culprits. More realisti-
cally, the secret authors of the Rosicrucian Manifes-tos are named, setting into motion a fusion of Hermet-ic philosophy, Renaissance
free thinking and opposition to the Vatican. This filtered into radical Masonic lodges, culminating in the exemplar secret society, that of the Bavarian Il-luminati.
Others think that looking at the subject too politically may in fact be the wrong way of going about it. Looking to literature and art, we have Baudelaire and Poe, influencing the Symbolist move-
The avant-garde are constantly evolving to affect the mainstream
and better protest against it.
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ment, and working its way, via World War One, into Dadaism. From Dada sprung the Situationists and Discordians, among others. And from there, the ball was really set roll-ing. Discordian-ism worked an influence on the Church of the Subge-nius, and combin-ing with the Beat philosophy of the West Coast and their anarchic interpretation of Situationism, became the Cacophony Society. Neo-ism also arose, promoting its mixture of experimental art and pranking, paradoxes and various frauds. The avant-garde are constantly evolving to affect the mainstream and better protest against it.
And whichever story you prefer, includ-ing the ones you come up with yourselves, there is no denying that the virus is loose. Its hard to define, but that’s why it keeps on living. Chaotic, anarchic, artistic and rebellious, op-posing the values of the mainstream and with more than a hint of humour (if of the ironic and satirical kind) it is out there. And it keeps on going.
That’s why this conspiracy is emergent. There is no controlling group, no command, no fig-urehead. Many of the groups within the conspiracy have these, but it does not add up overall. It does not even need to. And even better...with no one grouping, with no figurehead, its very, very hard to undo. Its in the soil, and in the air we breathe. To be sure, its hard to catch, or at least thinly distributed, but it is there, and combines with local and global trends to become something new,
to change and adapt and un-leash itself yet again against
the upright, the “proper”, the bourgeois (in the pejora-
tive sense) and in short, living the ideal of
Baudelaire, that “the man of letters is
the enemy of the world”.
Discordianism, for its own sake, its irrelevant.
Well, maybe that’s too harsh. It is not necessary, though its certain-
ly very agreeable to my personal tastes and has done a lot in spreading the underly-
ing memes that the emergent conspiracy relies on. Instead, if for whatever reason, Discordianism were to fail (the unlikely scenario of Erisian ter-rorists, for example), there are avenues for escape,
to regroup, and continue on as before, with a few adjustments. The conspiracy, by virtue of the fact that it is not a conspir-acy in the traditional sense, lives on, and continues to exert its influences.
The conspiracy does not die. It stands against the values of this culture, this society. Its willing to use unusual and exotic techniques to change it. And no-one can stop those of us in on it. Because...the conspiracy does not exist. But that does not mean you cannot join it.
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12
ithin
a D
ream
by C
ram
ulus
We talk to ourselves incessantly about our world. In fact we maintain our world with our internal talk. And whenever we finish talking to ourselves about ourselves and our world, the world is al-ways as it should be. We renew it, we rekindle it with life, we uphold it with our internal talk. Not only that, but we also choose our paths as we talk to ourselves. Thus we repeat the same choices over and over until the day we die, because we keep on repeating the same internal talk over and over until the day we die. A warrior is aware of this and strives to stop his internal talk.
-Carlos Castaneda
It’s a Dream Within A Dream
within a dream
within a dream
The difference between a regu-lar dream and a lucid dream is that in the lucid dream you’re aware that you’re dreaming.
These dreams are more mem-orable. Despite awareness of the illusion, the experience of seems more real. In a lucid dream, you have control over what’s going on. When I real-ize I’m not in the real world but in a dream world, I will myself to escape it, to fly away into a cooler place.
You can teach yourself how to have lucid dreams. To do this, you learn to make constant re-ality checks. Some people say you should try flipping a light switch on or off (notoriously useless in dreams), or try to read printed text. They provide clues to your mental state and can wake up your forebrain enough to take the reigns of your consciousness
within a dream
within a dream
See in dreams, your forebrain isn’t usually working. Inside your brain, there’s a lizard, a monkey, and a human all in competition. The human is winning, but only by a little. It’s an uneven balance at best.
In dreams, it’s mostly the mon-key and the lizard at the wheel. They hold up these images and symbols and memories and lick them and bang them on rocks and shake them up. Then we wake up and it doesn’t make any sense to us because those other two lobes weren’t trying to make sense. They’re irratio-nal by their very nature.
When we dream, they drive.The waking world is a lot like that too. People only use their human brain for a small por-tion of the day. The rest of the time the monkey and the lizard are driving. That’s why people are territorial, that’s why they get defensive, that’s why they do the same stupid shit every day and never question why.
Now I’m not saying that the human brain is better or more important than the other two brains you have. That lizard brain keeps you safe. That
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monkey brain gets you laid. The fore-brain - the human brain - is easily con-fused and conflict-
ed. From an evolutionary standpoint, it’s still very new - not fully baked. Millennia from now, maybe humans will have differ-ent brains, keener and more efficient. Today, we’ve got to try to make good use of what we’ve got.
There are times in my life when I realize that I’m in a terrible rut and it’s No Fun. We walk around with monkey and lizard brain on, just doing things repetitively, ritualisti-cally. These are the best times to make real-ity checks. This is the best time to ask “Am I actually awake?”
That reality check is about
evaluating which elements of the rut are necessary and
good and which should be stripped out. For me, the escape from the rut usually involves me picking up a new hobby, doing something dras-tically different, or in some way altering my day-to-day me. It’s sort
of like waking up from a dream
within a dream
within a dream
But instead of waking up into
reality I’m really just waking up into another dream. Because that new hobby will one day get boring, and that new me is in no way the ultimate me.
See, it’s not enough to be lucid briefly and say (for example) “hey, I’m miserable be-cause I surround my-self with morons”, and then get new friends.
Yo u ’ v e got to k e e p t h a t spark lit. Yo u ’ v e got to shine its light on everything you do and think for yourself all the time. Upon self-examina-tion, I’ve realized I have hundreds of opin-ions and attitudes that are borrowed from somewhere else. To some extent, that’s the human condition.
14
People read movie reviews because they want an opinion about the movie before they even see it. Peo-ple listen to pundits vivisect the body politic because they want to know what supposedly educated, well informed people are thinking. People religiously watch TV shows that they don’t actually even fucking enjoy. There’s a mass hypnosis going on here. The collective con-sciousness has the high ground advantage over individual consciousness. We’re being blown around like leaves, and the wind is fashion, is politics, is culture itself
within a dream
within a dream
It’s not just about escaping the rut. Learn to wake up, in general, and you’ll become aware of all the parts of your life that are a dream. Learn to think for yourself and be lucid.
See I believe reality is what you make of it. All the parts of this dream are your cre-ation. Think of something important. Think of something boring. Think of something exciting. The importance, the boredom, the excitement, all these things only exist in your mind. They’re things you actually do have control over.
Once you realize you’re dreaming, you can change your dream from a nightmare to a wet dream. Once you realize that, say, your morning commute is boring as hell, you can engineer ways to make it less so. You’ve just got to awaken your forebrain enough.
If you’re in a nightmare, realize that it’s a nightmare. Realize that it’s YOUR night-mare. Realize that YOU are the one who is making it awful, YOU are the one who is dreaming it bad.
So wake up and change it - it’s a false awak-ening, but an awakening none the less.
15
The point of learning how to wake up is not to find the top-level reality, but to achieve lucidity
within a dream
within a dream...
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The Night Before Christmas Munchies by Manta Obscura
‘Twas the night before Christmasand all through the shanty,not a person was stirring, not uncle or aunty.
But through the thin walls I heard a great thumping,a moan and a gasp,the neighbors were humping.
I tried to ignore them and lay my head down,yet even covered in pillowsmy ears heard the sound.
So rising from bed to escape the perversion,I went to the kitchenin hopes of diversion.
I opened the fridge to find me a snack,yet the food was all moldy,bitter and black.
Unfilled and disgusted I went to find cash,to order a pizzato come in a flash.
Yet the phone kept on ringing,no answer in sight,so I bellowed my lungs out,cursing with spite.
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“The stores are all closed now,”I said with a sneer,as wont they’re to bewhen Christmas is near.
So with no options now leftI went back to bed,fluffed up my pillow andlaid down my head.
Christmas was waiting just a dream’s width away,behind night’s deep curtainin the newness of day.
Thus sleep was my savior,to bring Christmas, so dandy,alive with bright colors,and especially candy.
In the morning my munchieswould be gone in a snap,but as for right now I’d take a quick nap.
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The Toy Makerby Payne
So. I’m sitting here, as I always do these days, stewing in my own juices (basting if you will). Smoking ciga-rettes, drinking all the booze in the house, yes even the girly-girl ones. I think a bit, maybe that should be ‘regret’ a bit, about the last couple years, then the last decade. Hell, I say, why not my whole damn life.
People I’ve known, and let down, or who let me down. Opportu-nities squandered. T.V. shows I missed.
The last six months in fact, I haven’t even DONE anything. Ex-cept run away, retreating into an ever tighter corner. At times its easy to make myself believe that I achieved something by fuck-ing up. At times I can even make
myself be-lieve that cont inu-ing to do not h i ng about it is a Good
Thing.
I owe things to people who can’t find
me. Money, Goodbyes, Explana-tions.
Political ideologies, religious man-tras, ‘common sense’. I used to think I was clever, I used to think I was smart, but I really am no more than a cabbage. No, worse, I’m a toy. A clockwork one wound up by my own hand, to amuse others. To glimpse my reflection in the McBurgerHut window and amuse myself with my antics and
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tomfoolery. And every day, with my first cigarette, and putting on my glasses, just before I go for a piss, I wind up the spring again.
See him chatter, roll around and stumble!
It says no user serviceable parts in raised letters, next to
the poorly manu-factured tin key on my back. But maybe that’s a lie.
So one day, I stumble onto a
website, well off my beaten track of boring, inane sub-jects. I read a funny little book written by a couple stoners. I find it amusing, given that as a semi-ex stoner stoner, I always have a weak-ness for people who write shit when they’re out of their faces.
O.K. That was fun.
I follow the trail to a disturbing little community, Discordians, well removed from the coif-fured, primped little holes I usu-ally find myself in. This place is seriously strange. Bizarre names and faces, and scary thoughts. I read another little book, not so funny, inviting me to a jail-break.
O.K. the toy has been busted out of its box now. I just need to find a way out of the toy. Suck it up man, cause this is really going to hurt...
This piece is about Payne’s discovery of the lunatic fringe. For further reading, check out
PrincipiaDiscorida.com
Read the Principia Discordia and the Black Iron Prison.
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‘Nancy’by Hoopla
At a low period in my life I was seeking en-lightenment. Lounging in my empty bathtub, fully clothed, I pondered the state of this sor-ry world. Wondering why there was so much confusion and strife afflicting so many; won-dering if this was this and that was that, and whether tit really did anything for tat. Realizing that I wasn’t philosophizing anymore and merely invoking Suess I decided that it was time to move outdoors, for fresh air and sun, to seek my enlightenment in the world.
On the sidewalk I found an Oh Henry bar. Looking around, I saw nobody who seemed ready to lay a claim on it - the bar seemed to be up for grabs. I crouched down and examined it closely, without touching it, of course. I wasn’t about to become in-snared by some intrepid alien or big game hunter. I didn’t detect any strings, and the sidewalk around the candy seemed kosher. The bar was mine. Snatching it up, I moved to a bench to consume it in comfort at my own leisure. It was chocolatey, it was caramely, it was nugetty, it was sweet and it was gooey. It did not, however, enlighten me.
Sitting on the bench, I sighed. Where next should I seek my enlightenment? As I mulled this query over I noticed a small book on the bench next to me. Curious, I picked it up, and read the cover; it was the Collected Short Stories of O. Henry.
This was a stunning coinci-dence. This, undoubtedly,
meant something. As I opened the book to peruse the contents I was struck by something that made the book altogether more strange - all the pages were torn out, save those between fifty-five and six-ty-nine, a story entitled The Green Door. I felt this story must be of cosmic significance, and so de-voured it on the spot. Here would be the answers to the cause of all the strife and confusion in the world. I read the story in a few minutes, and chuckled once or twice, was saddened at least once, and sighed at the end. The story was touching and amusing, but I did not, however, answer my questions.
I felt perplexed. I felt confused. I felt discombobu-lated. I did not, however, feel enlightened.
Still searching, I walked.
I walked five blocks, and was then struck down to the pavement with another stunning coincidence. A porno theatre was showing a revival of Behind The Green Door. This was a stunning synchronicity. This, undoubtedly, meant something. I paid my admission, bought another Oh Henry bar at the candy counter, and ventured into the theatre. The movie had al-ready started as I made my way through the sick-eningly clammy sound of about fifty people beating their meat in the audience. I shuffled into the back row and tried to find a seat which hadn’t been is-sued upon. As I sat down -just for a laugh- I began to smack the palm of my hand against the back of my neck furiously, and moan overly loud. The mon-key spanking subsided for about seventeen seconds. I chuckled to myself, and began to unwrap my candy bar.
As I took the first bite I realized the movie had stopped in place on the screen. Marilyn Chambers’ legs were spread-eagled, and all her glory was center stage, so to speak. So many euphemisms which are
21
inappropriate rattled through my brain... tacos and beavers should not be compared to the same part of the body described as The Mound Of Venus. As this thought fluttered through my mind I also noticed the silence in the theatre. There were no sounds of auto eroticism whatsoever, in fact my fellow patrons seemed to be petrified in the more literal sense. I became alarmed by this, but was even more alarmed when Marilyn Chambers’ bush on-screen burst into flames, and began to speak to me.
BARON VON HOOPLA, a satiny female voice called from the burning bush.
YOU MADE LEVITY IN A PLACE OF SOLEMN WORSHIP.
I gulped, since there seemed little else to do under the circumstances.
HOW DO YOU STAND AGAINST THESE CHARGES? the female voice asked. Guilty, I hiccuped. I had mocked the meat-beaters. My can-dy bar was melting in my hand. I could feel it.
GOOD. said the voice. YOU’RE ONE OF MINE.
Who, who are you? I asked.
I YAM WHO I YAM, came the reply.
Popeye?! I ex-claimed. It didn’t sound like Popeye.
NAY, I AM CALLED ERIS NANCY DIS-CORDIA. GODDESS OF CHAOS CON-FUSION STRIFE CREATIVITY AND BUREAUCRACY.
I AM THE HODGE OF THE RISING PODGE AND THE PODGE OF THE SINKING HODGE - GRAND WAZOO OF ALL THINGS FUNNY.
Why have you chosen me? I asked, not cowering as blatantly as a few minutes prior, but still cowering nonetheless.
FOR YOU ARE A GOOD APPLE.
YOU ARE AWAKE ENOUGH TO QUESTION, SKEP-TICAL ENOUGH TO QUESTION THE APPARENT
ANSWERS, GULLIBLE ENOUGH TO FOLLOW MYSTERY, HUMOROUS ENOUGH TO MOCK THE SERIOUS AND SERIOUS ENOUGH TO AWAKEN IN THE FIRST PLACE.
YOU EMBODY THE IDEALS OF THE SACRED CHAO, AND LO, I DEEM YOU A KEEPER OF IT.
Onto the ceiling of the theatre, the fire from the burn-ing bush traced out a design. It was a circle bisected by an ‘S’ shape; on one side was depicted an apple emblazoned with a ‘K’, on the other a pentagon.It’s some for of Yin Yang? I asked.
THE YIN YANG IS A FORM OF THE SACRED CHAO. IT IS A REPRESENTATION OF THE UNI-VERSE. ALL THE ANSWERS YOU SEEK WILL BE FOUND WITHIN THAT CIRCLE, WHICH IS THE SERPENT SWALLOWING ITS OWN TAIL.
That’s the answer to why there is so much strife and confusion in the world? I don’t understand . . . why an apple and a pentagon?CHAOS IS THE ENTIRE CIRCLE, ONE HALF IS ORDER, THE OTHER DISORDER. THEY ARE BOTH NATURAL MANIFESTATIONS OF THE UNDERLYING CHAOS.
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ONCE YOU UNDERSTAND THAT, YOU UNDER-STAND EVERYTHING. FARE THEE WELL-
Wait! One more question! What’s the best way to deal with the strife and confusion of the world?
LAUGHTER! came the reply. FARE THEE WELL-Wait! One last question! Why Nancy??
WHAT?
Why Eris Nancy Discordia? I asked. Why Nancy?
NANCY’S A NICE NAME. FARE THEE WELL KEEPER OF MY SACRED CHAO! SPREAD MY WORD - ALL MEN SHALL BE SAILORS THEN UNTIL THE SEA SHALL FREE THEM!
Wait! I called, You stole that from Leonard Cohen!
NAY - HE STOLE THAT FROM ME.
Thus, I was enlightened.
The bush ceased to burn. The film ran forward. The manhandling kicked back in, but sounded more serene this time, like a gentle rainfall on a tin roof. I stood up and noticed a small book on the seat next to me.
I took it out into the light of the lobby and read the title, ‘Principia Discordia’, I heard a female voice in the center of my head say READ IT: BELIEVE ALL OF IT, BELIEVE NONE OF IT.
I walked outside, and promptly slipped on a banana peel, while thinking ‘Indeed, do many strange things come to pass.’
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InternationalRelations
by Cain
I know you could probably look this up on Wikipedia, but
1. Wikipedia is boring, and
2. Wikipedia does not tell you amusing anecdotes about various theories and theo-rists.
In short, International Relations is the study of anything that crosses bor-ders. In that sense, it studies (among other things) trade, war, political sci-ence, sociology, terrorism, aid organiza-tions, history and ethics. It is like politi-cal science, writ large. Also, unlike the traditional understanding of politics (the left-right and authoritarian-libertarian dis-tinction) IR uses its own spe-cialist jargon, some of which is counterintuitive to those unfamiliar with the basics of our understanding of the subject.
The first lesson is the basic approach-es to Grand Theory in IR. Grand Theory is essentially the Big Overarching Ideas which the majority of scholars subscribe to, and tend to use in their analysis of world events. It is of course not necessary to sub-scribe to one yourself (I would suggest you do not), but understanding their strengths and weaknesses, especially without resort-ing to a pick and mix approach of analysis (which tends to end up in horrible, logic
contorting conclusions) is very helpful in-deed.
Realism Realism is pretty much the oldest theory. Some people trace it back to Thucydides and his masterful History of the Peloponnesian War in the west, and to Sun Tzu in the east. Other notable theorists would include Au-gustine, Machiavelli, Thomas Hobbes, Carl Schmitt, Hans Morgenthau, Henry Kissinger, John Mearsheimer and Stephen Walt (the last two being the writers of the recent Israel Lobby book).
If Realism could only be summed up in one word, the word would be “power”. For Realists power is of primary impor-
tance, especially military and economic clout, which most see as intertwined. As far as Realists are concerned, most politics is about power, and the continual quest to grab, acquire and use power. Real-
ists generally see the international system as anarchical. By that, they mean there is no overarching world authority who can compel states to obey its will. Therefore, states acquire power to protect themselves against the uncertainty of the world.
With no-one else who can be relied on in adangerous situation, states must rely on their own arms and resources for their continued influence in the world.
If Realism could only be summed up in one word, the word would
be “power”.
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Also for Realists, the state is the basic unit of analysis. Either because of structural reasons or human psychology, all states are essentially alike in their aims and intentions. Therefore, it does not mat-ter if a state is a democracy, a fascist dic-tatorship, a theocracy or a monarchy. All, according to Realist thinking, act accord-ing to the above factors of power and anar-chy, not on their stated ideology.
As one would expect, Realists mostly concern themselves with grand strategy is-sues. Such things as the Balance of Power, Offense-Defense Balance, Alliance Theory and Deterrence feature highly on a Realist curriculum.
There are several notable strands of Realism:
Classical Realism - the basic “prob-lem” is human nature. People are untrust-worthy and vicious, therefore you must be too, in order to not fall foul of them. Key thinkers: Machiavelli, Thucydides, Hob-bes, Augustine.
Neorealism - this reverses the logic of Classical Realism, stating that instead, the basic problem is anarchy. Neoreal-ism tends to be highly abstract, and deals mainly with how the structure of the in-ternational system (anarc hy) constrains
the choices of the actors within. Conflict is still
seen as a
permanent condition. Your main people here are Kenneth Waltz and Stephen Walt.
Offensive Realism - this is a sub-branch of Neorealism, made popu-lar by John Mearsheimer. Here, the ba-sic idea, in addition to the assumptions of Neorealism, is that states will seek to max-imize their power by seeking to become hegemons.
Defensive realism - another variant of Neorealism. In this case, the focus is on the security dilemma (how one state build-ing up defences can be seen as threaten-ing by another state) and how security is essentially a zero-sum game. Defensive realism thus often looks to Game Theory for its inspiration. Waltz, Walt and Robert Jervis fall into this school of thought.
Liberal Realism - also known as the English School, the idea here is that de-spite the anarchical international system, there is still something approaching a society of states, and thus potential con-flict can be mitigated, in part, through
use of international organizations such as the UN. Liberal Realism combines critiques from Construc-tivism, Critical Theory/the Frank-furt School and post-structuralism to posit the idea that ideas matter
and shape relations as much as material
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capabilities. Hedley Bull and Martin Wright are part of this school of thought, though as stated, influences de-rive from many fields and individuals.
Neoclassical Realism - this combines the psychological in-sights of classical realism along with Neorealist structural concerns to try and determine the foreign policies of individ-ual states, rather than the structure of the International System.
As can be seen, Realism very much derives from realpolitik practices, which the like of Metternicht or Bismarck, as well as various foreign policy hawks/national security specialists and a certain flavour of religious individual (such as Pastor Nie-buhr) with their focus on Original Sin, would find attractive. It would not be entirely inaccurate to see links to generally conservative political viewpoints.
However, that is not always the case. Hans Morgen-thau is widely considered the founder of modern Realist thought, and was a liberal Jew who fled Nazi Germany and protested against the Vietnam War. The amoral nature of Realist analysis means one can agree with the general con-clusions, while finding them morally repugnant or accept-able, depending on one’s personal viewpoint.
Robert Kaplan is another example of the “tragic real-ist” who values American norms and mores concerning free-dom, liberal democracy etc. Yet he advocates methods such as deception, assassination and carefully applied state terror in certain situations, as he feels warrants such a response (naturally, he considers such events to be few, and that they are backed up by the normally exemplary behaviour of liberal democracies towards their citizens). Zbigniew Brzezinski was the foreign pol-icy advisor to President Carter, yet a dyed-in-the-wool Realist, as was Kissinger, Nixon’s advisor and alleged war criminal.
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The Swallowby Ratatosk, Squirrel of Discord
In birds have poets often found their muse,both in their flight and in their feathered hues.
The Raven, dark as blood dried on a knife.The Songbird, calling spring from death to life.
Thus birds can be beloved or despisedBased on the things they’ve often symbolized
Yes, symbols might make up the way we see,the citizens of every bush and tree.
From stately hawk to vultures in the air,and early birds delight in wormy fare.
Though might is often tied to creatures’ size,That is not where the swal-low’s power lies,
And while it may catch insects on the wing,I write about a very different thing.
Perhaps some few shall see through my intent,And understand just what the Swallow meant.
It may be small but you can be assureda Swallow on its own has often cured,
An ailment that could bring your spirits lowand limit when you come and where you go.
To save you from some twenty years of work,Invoke the swallow and banish the stork.
(So before you think my words ring hollow,I present a poem of the Swallow.)
the Pope is Dead
a belie
f is ju
st
a thought
you
keep havin
g
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Knowing We Are Freeby St. Verbatim
I used to tell people we live in an An-archist Utopia. It was a kind of IRL troll in the days I used to hang out with activist-types. It was a lot of fun, because it is a very difficult claim difficult to argue against: we are all free to do as we will. You can smoke a joint in front of a police station - you just have to be prepared to deal with the consequences. You can do anything you can get away with.
It is very easy to confuse what we can’t do with what we shouldn’t do. It is all too easy to forget that we have the choice. The internet pirate, downloading and propagating stolen materials, he has the choice. And stopping at a red light, I had the choice to keep going and risk arrest or injury.
Freedom, in this its most ba-sic sense, seems rather constant in human history across space and time. The only way people have managed to truly limit freedom in this sense is imprisonment of others - and this has always been applied to a small minority, even in extreme cases where entire eth-nic groups were rounded up and confined.
So if we sense we are in a state of decreasing freedom, clear-ly the freedom we are referring to is not this freedom of I used to tell people we live in an Anarchist
Utopia. It was a kind of IRL troll in the days I used to hang out with activist-types. It was a lot of fun, because it is a very dif-ficult claim difficult to argue against: we are all free to do as we will. You can smoke a joint in front of a police station - you just have to be prepared to deal with the conse-quences. You can do anything you can get away with.
It is very easy to confuse what we can’t do with what we shouldn’t do. It is all too easy to forget that we have the choice. The internet pirate, downloading and propagating stolen materials, he has the choice. And stopping at a red light, I had the choice to keep going and risk arrest or injury.
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Freedom, in this its most basic sense, seems rather constant in human history across space and time. The only way peo-ple have managed to truly limit freedom in this sense is imprisonment of others - and this has always been applied to a small minority, even in extreme cases where en-tire ethnic groups were rounded up and confined.
So if we sense we are in a state of decreasing freedom, clearly the freedom we are referring to is not this freedom of
choice, ever so hard to truly limit. The free-doms now being slowly taken away must be subtler ones - indeed, these freedoms must consist of our choices not being af-fected unduly by outside considerations. I should be able to write what I want, when I want, where I want, without this choice being affected by fear of retribution. Im-posing this fear is a subtle encroachment upon my freedom.
But perhaps the easiest way to limit one’s freedom is to make one forget this freedom ever existed in the first place. Af-ter all, why put a man behind iron bars when you can just train him to stay in-doors? If you can convince The People that they should not do what you do not wish them to do, you save a great deal of energy you would otherwise spend actually stop-ping them from doing it. If you can con-vince them that they cannot do this, can-not go there, all the better.It is good to remember once in a while that we are fundamentally free. We may have fears imposed on us by unjust rulers. We may have to face choices no free person should be forced to face. We may have to take great care to preserve our freedom. But we are free nonetheless, and the choice is ours. Merely knowing we are free is half the battle.
><
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A Clarification by The Good Reverend Roger Apparently, at least one or two of you have misunderstood everything I’ve tried to say for the last few years. You’ve missed the point, so I guess I’m gonna have to explain my position in small words. Tell me if I’m typing this too fast for you.
Look, when I bitched about the republic being dead, and freedom being a dying art, I wasn’t telling you to ACCEPT these hideous truths! I wasn’t telling you to give up, and roll into a fetal ball in the corner! Goddammit, you’d BETTER holler when the rock hits you, because when you’re dead, you’ll shut up like hell!
And when I wrote “or kill me”, just what the fuck did you think I was trying to say? Well, let me tell you one last hideous truth...there IS freedom, but nobody is going to give it to you. Not your rich parents. Not your “government” (har har!). Your military isn’t fight-ing for your freedom (and if you think they are, boy do I have a real estate deal for you!).
No, you’ll just have to take it for yourself, just like those asstards back in the 18th century. And if they try to stop you, you have to kick them in the jimmy. And you’ll have to kick them until they let you have your freedom, or until they kill you. And until they do, you’d better live a life WORTHY of a free person! Don’t just eat that cheeseburger, eat the HELL out of it! Go nuts! Kick shit over, have a blast, and enjoy what little time you get before they bring the hammer down on you!
Shit, do you think they’re gonna let me get away with MY shit forever? They’ve already tried to lock me up twice, and three times is a charm. No, one
day I’ll disappear...I’ll just stop showing up, and you’ll wonder why for a little while, and then you’ll get back to bickering about music, etc, and I’ll fade from your memory. Just another foul-mouthed thug from the Southwest, who tried to bring back the Wild West and failed.
Until the day they come for YOU. Oh, and they WILL. Maybe not Bush and his crew...they’re on their last legs. But maybe Hillary and HER crew...you ARE a disruptive bunch, and you’ll never make it on Oprah. So maybe you’ll be shunted off to a re-education camp in New Hampshire, where you’ll be beaten like a rat every day, for your own good.
And on THAT day, friends, you’ll wish you’d lis-tened. You’ll wish you’d grabbed that ephemeral thing we call “freedom” by the neck and choked the shit out of it. You’ll wish you realized earlier what you stood to lose. Well, at first. In a month or so, you’ll start responding to the therapy, and you’ll wonder what all the fuss was about. The sun will shine down onto your grey pajamas, and even the mud of the camp rec-reation area will look warm and inviting. You’ll realize that They really do love you, even when you’re bad. And you love them.
You love Big Brother.
Bang.
Or Kill Me.
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The Golden Age of Discordianismby Ratatosk, Squirrel of Discord
What?Golden Age of Discordianism?
NOW IS THE GOLDEN AGE.
Look around. At the beginning of the 60’s there were Discordians, maybe 10, 20, maybe even 50. By the end of the 60’s we’d gotten up to maybe a couple hundred
people that had read the PD...
The mid-70’s brought RAW and a bigger bullhorn to shout bullshit through. So the numbers grew, somewhat. The subgeniuses formed separately and the two converged into a decent rivalry, but overall, the num-bers of both groups (as far as we ca tell) were small. According to RAW, in a discussion about Discordianism, even through the 80’s mosbunal Discordians tended to be neo-pagans that included Eris as a joke/meta-phor/reminder not to be serious... whatev-er. Only a few crazy ass motherfuckers, like Bob and Omar, actually called themselves
Erisian or Discordian, primarily.
Now, look at this magazine and Discord-ian forums... even the dogmatically pineal ones. This is Discordianism Becoming, be it through new memes or old memes, through creative independent thinking or through laughing at the jokes of other people. Now is The Age of Eris, not then, then was the
seed planting, now is the first harvest!
In the mid-80’s, even in the early 90’s, what religious discussion groups would seriously include Discordianism as a valid system? How many more such groups are in
existence today?
In the mid-80’s, how many people had heard of Discordianism?
How many have today?
We’re just getting up a head of steam, going back doesn’t get us to a golden age, it gets us to the train station we just left!
I have a greater hope for Discordianism, than some either or dichotomy between those that are “Doing it Right” and those that are “Doing It Wrong”. The fact that they are Doing It, however they think best,
is as close to right as I think we’ll get.
“Like What You Like, Enjoy What You Enjoy and Don’t Take Crap From Anyone”
- Guns and Dope Party motto
If they like Fnording 23’s and OMGZLO-LO5’s, then so be it. If they like the Black Iron Prison and all of our philosophical
wanking here, then so be it.
The original spirit of Discordianism, in my opinion, has a lot more to do with how you play with your own head... than with how
other people play with theirs.
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Who Killed the LULZ?
Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours, ran to the market-place, and cried incessantly: “I am looking for Lulz! I am looking for Lulz!”
As many of those who did not believe in Lulz were standing together there, he excited considerable laughter. Have you lost them, then? said one. Did they lose their way like a child? said another. Or are they hiding? Are they afraid of us? Have they gone on a voyage? or emigrated? Thus they shouted and laughed. The madman sprang into their midst and pierced them with his glances.
“Where have Lulz gone?” he cried. “I shall tell you. We have killed them - you and I. We are their murderers. But how have we done this? How were we able to crap up the whole internet? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire web?
What did we do when we unchained the forum from its URL? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving now? Away from all forums? Are we not perpetually falling? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there any up or down left? Are we not straying as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space?
Has it not become colder? Is it not more and more night coming on all the time? Must not emoticons be posted in the morning? Do we not hear any-thing yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying Lulz? Do we not smell anything yet of
Lulz’s decomposition?
Lulz too decomposes. Lulz is dead. Lulz re-mains dead. And we have killed them. How shall we, murderers of all murderers, console ourselves? That which was the holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet possessed has bled to death un-der our knives. Who will wipe this blood off us? With what water could we purify ourselves?
What festivals of atone-ment, what sacred games shall we need to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we not our-selves become Lulz sim-
ply to be worthy of it?
There has never been a greater deed; and whosoever shall be born after us - for the sake of this deed he shall be part of a higher history than all history hitherto.”
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As Enrico stepped off tuna boat onto fine soil of this country he was immediately molested by a strange man in a rumpled suit with crazed eyes. Normally this would not bother Enrico at all, on the contrary, he advertises for it . . . but this man wasn’t interested in Enrico’s crotch at all, he was only interested in talking religion and philosophy.
He asked Enrico, “Do you believe there is such thing as a true religion?”Enrico snorted and replied “Isn’t pornography the religion in this country?”
He told Enrico that it was not, which saddened Enrico for a few moments, it was after all why Enrico had come to this country in the first place. Immediately his visions of becoming a pope of porn melted away . . . he would have to find other ways to get people to accept his ‘host’, he relized. He was only sad for a moment, of course, because Enrico rarely has to do much persuading, being the virile testicle squid he is.
The man pulled a medallion from under his shirt and waved it before Enrico’s eyes. Enrico, in turn pulled seventeen medallions from under his shirt and waved them around too, thinking ‘what strange customs these beautiful faggots have’, but was distracted from his inner monologue by the man saying “This is called the Sacred Cow.”
“Sacred Cow?” Enrico asked, then added: “In Enrico’s homeland that is Beatrice Arthur.”“No no,” the man said. “Cow! See Ayche Aye Oh. Cow. It is the singular version of Chaos.”“Chaos.” repeated Enrico.
“Yes,” the man said. “Chaos is the natural state of the universe. Aspects of chaos are order and dis-order. Both are natural, so do not shun the disorder as false, it is true.”“You speak bullshit,” Enrico laughed. “Enrico likes that.”
“This is not bullshit. This is truth that will set you free.”“No.” said Enrico. “Is bullshit. But, bullshit is important.”The man’s eyes widened in amazement. “Bullshit? Important? Why?”Enrico was surprised that the concept of Bull hadn’t been taught to this man. What else was going to be different in this country?
“Bullshit is very important.” Enrico told the man. “Bullshit should be spread far and wide. Always spread bullshit wherever you go.”“Why?” asked the man.
“Is simple. If you speak to someone and tell them truth you have made them think nothing, is true?”“No, they think about what you said.”“How many peoples do you know?” Enrico asked. “Most peoples, they are not completely right in the head. Most peoples accept your information like a baby goat accepts your root. If you give them bullshit, though, the person will later find out about it, become angry, but then they will need to go look up the information themselves. They will need to use their own head gravy, instead of relying on other peoples to do their thinking for them . . . in this way bullshit is very very important. So spread bullshit everywhere, my fine friendly faggot.”
Enrico was about to leave when the man called out to him “But what if they never find out that the information is bullshit?”Enrico turned back to the man. He shrugged. “Fuck em. If they are that stupid they deserve to stay that way.”
And that is how Enrico taught the silly Discordian about the Sacred Bull.
The Parable of the Sacred Bullby Enrico Salazar“Bullshit is very
important.” Enrico told the man. “Bullshit should be pread far and wide. Always spread bullshit wherever you go.”
They admired Hendrix for being innovative, so they were going to very dili-gently copy everything
he had already done.
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Architectureby DJRubberDucky More than anything, I’m trying to sort out my thoughts on the matter, not really inflict them on anybody. But you’re welcome to discuss, as that may help the sorting process. From what I can tell, the ex-terior walls of the Black Iron Prison are put in place by our existence as humans. As has been said before in other treatises, our perceptions are limited by the relatively narrow ranges of our physical senses, and by the fact that our brains can only pro-cess so much information at a given time. Even when we try to expand our sensory rang-es by building and using mechanical devices, it’s very difficult for us to observe both those expanded ranges and our “natural” ranges - we have to focus our atten-tion on what’s under the microscope and can’t neces-sarily notice the fire that just caught in the far corner of the laboratory. This is why we can never fully escape the Black Iron Prison - we either don’t have the sensory percep-tion, or we don’t have the mental processing power, and if we try to expand both at once, we end up frying our brains with data over-load. None can look upon the face of God and live. However, the BIP is chock full of interior walls, and we can smash those to our heart’s content be-cause we’re the ones who put them there, or who al-lowed them to be put there (which is almost the same thing). Smashing those walls doesn’t change the fact that we’re in prison, but it gives us a little more wiggle room. One of the troubles in wall-smashing, though, is that many of us knock down a wall, then take those bricks and use them to build a new and different wall. I actually had that rev-elation back in high school, but only in a very specific
sense - I was complaining about how so many guitar-ists wanted to sound like Jimi Hendrix because “he was so innovative”. That idea just totally boggled my mind. They admired Hendrix for being innovative, so they were going to very diligently copy everything he had already done, and think they were somehow better for it. Hendrix had smashed a wall, and these kids were very meticulously picking up the bricks and building a new one - but it was okay because this was a Hendrix wall and therefore cooler than the other
walls out there! On the other hand, is it bad to rebuild walls in new and differ-ent places? If you knock down too many walls without rebuilding at least one or two somewhere else, do you risk collapsing the ceiling on yourself and going completely mad? (If you want to argue wheth-
er or not going mad is a bad thing, let’s do that else-where.) And is it somehow less offensive to live with walls that you have built, since you chose to have them there and you will probably remain aware of their existence? I tend to think it is - if a girl who grows up reaping all the benefits of gender equality who *chooses* to be a stay-at-home mom when she grows up is IMO better off than a girl who grew up never knowing that she didn’t have to do that if she didn’t want to.
A note from Telarus, KSC:I had a lot of fun laying out this re-issue of InterMittens 01. I hope you like it, and hope to see a lot of you contributing to further issues. Oh, and next time....... I get paid for layout.
I will accept hempscript.
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Media Mindfuckingby The Good Reverend Roger
It has been said by wiser men than me that evil has its own attraction. Any time there is chaos or econom-ic failure, the idea of strong orga-nization becomes very palatable to domesticated primates...So they turn to things like police forces wearing military-type uniforms, etc. There’s a certain magic in fas-cism, that appeals to people when times are rotten.
A good example is the ICE branch of the US Customs office, which
is now part of DHS instead of the Treasury Department. ICE officers do not wear the police-style uniforms worn by other federal policing agencies, but rather the “digital camouflage” uniforms worn by the US Army. There is, of course, no need for this uniform other than to give an in-timidating, paramilitary appearance to the officers.
Germany did that, once.
Another thing people tend to do when times get rocky is to view dissenters as treasonous or at least “obstruction-ist”. The press, if not completely on board with the political leadership, is castigated and - if possible - silenced.
An example of this is today’s removal of Keith Ol-bermann from the RNC convention coverage, as he objected to the airing of a 911-themed film shown at the convention. To show part of such a clip is simply reporting...but to show the entire clip is essentially unpaid advertising for the party in question on the part of the network. To show an entire speech is also responsible journalism, but an entire, packaged pro-paganda piece?
That goes beyond journalism, into “mouthpiece” ter-ritory. And a captive and/or sycophantic media is an abomination...Indeed, our “free press” is merely an unofficial branch of the so-called “government”.
I don’t know about you, but it’s time to start fucking with the media.
Or kill me.
